Rules Of Engagement
by Cyberria
Summary: PrimeVerse - Ratchet and Smokescreen argue about interfacing, among other things.


"Don't touch that!" Ratchet barked, his attention divided. "Don't touch that either!" With one eye trained on his set of monitors, the other struggled to keep note of Smokescreen, who much to the medic's dismay, had found a new hobby: disrupting his work.

"What's this thing do?" The new recruit asked, analyzing an odd looking device by ignorantly holding it upside down.

"Put that down!"

"What's that clicking noise?"

"That's you breaking it! Now put it back!" Ratchet was on his last nerve. All afternoon, Smokescreen had be staring over his shoulder, poking his stubby fingers at delicate medical equipment and when ordered to stop, disobeyed and continued his belligerent rampage of every tool, computer and device within range of his optics. To make matters worse, Optimus was nowhere to be found. Arcee was on patrol, Bulkhead was resting and Bumblebee was watching from nearby, occasionally laughing along and doing nothing to help. Ratchet was miserable. If this wasn't bullying, he didn't know what was.

"Please, Smokescreen." He growled, trying to mask the anger in his voice. "I am very busy and you are causing distractions. Please go bother someone else!"

"I think there's something loose inside, are you sure it's not broken, Ratchet? Maybe I could help."

Obviously, 'please' wasn't working. "No! I don't need your help!" He snapped, turning to snatch the object away. "I don't need your help, I don't need your advice and I definitely do not need your grabby hands all over my equipment! Now go AWAY!"

Smokescreen backed away, arms held up defensively. "Yeesh, calm down, doc-bot! No need to get your cables in a bunch!"

"My cables are fine!" He shouted, still reaching for the object Smokescreen hadn't yet relinquished. "It's your cables that need examined!" Smokescreen rolled his eyes and tossed the tool back to Ratchet, who, in his emotional frenzy, just barely managed to catch it.

"Be careful!" He scolded. He cradled the recovered item in his hands, examining it for broken or damaged bits.

"I'm just trying to be helpful…" Smokescreen grumbled. He crossed his arms and leaned back on the wall, turning his head in defiance "But noooo, the rookie can't do anything…" He said the last bit under his breath, but Ratchet took the bait.

"Oh, don't give me that scrap! You know you're needed, but ultimately fail to understand WHERE you're needed, which isn't here bothering me! If you want to make yourself useful, go on patrol with Bumblebee!" If Optimus were here, he'd have settled this within seconds, but he wasn't, so it fell to Ratchet to deal with a child who was so obsessed with his self-worth that he put it above any logic. Ratchet was his superior, but he couldn't understand why an academy-trained bot like Smokescreen couldn't get that fact through his stubborn spark.

Ratchet turned back to his monitors, trying to ignore the pouting imbecile in the corner. Unfortunately for him and his patience, Smokescreen wasn't done just yet.

"Optimus and Arcee are on patrol. How many patrols do we need!?" He retorted. The tone of his voice was so piercing to Ratchet's audio perceptors that he half-considered physically turning them off. "I think," Smokescreen continued, "We should be focusing on-"

"What you think is irrelevant, Smokescreen!" Ratchet shouted, turning on his heel to face Smokescreen. "In this team we follow the orders of superior officers, which, at the moment, is myself. You should already know that though, seeing as how you were once a member of the Eilite Guard… or so you say." Ratchet did little to hide the snark in his voice at the mention of Smokescreen's former position in Iacon.

"Pfft, so that's it then. You still don't trust me." Smokescreen said smoothly, his optics boring intently into his opponent, as if he was in a position to argue for equal treatment. Ratchet couldn't believe the arrogance he was forced to compete with today.

Before he could respond to the accusation of unfair treatment, Smokescreen found another tactic to get under Ratchet's metal. "Oh well," He sighed, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. "Like some old bot like you would know anything about me. In Iacon, I was the top of my cl-"

"I am not old!" Ratchet blustered, turning again to face Smokescreen but instantly regretting it. The stupid kid was smiling. In the time it took to scramble for a counter-attack, Smokescreen had already seen through his defenses.

"Sorry, did I say old? I meant outdated. As far as I can tell, you need a structural reframing and a good spiking." Smokescreen was all snark and smiles and no guilt.

Did he really…? Ratchet grew tense. "Look." He growled, finally abandoning his post to stomp over to the far wall and face Smokescreen directly, the pounding of his feet reverberating heavily off the dense, stone walls. Standing face-to-face with his opponent, he realized that in all the millennia he'd functioned, he'd never met a bot as unapologetically smug as this one. He pointed at Smokescreen and barked, albeit more weakly than he intended, "I don't need medical advice from the likes of you!"

Smokescreen broke into a fit of laughter and keeled over, holding his head. Even Bumblebee was snickering quietly from the distance where he was perched, watching the scene unfold. Ratchet considered corporal punishment.

"Medical? Sorry, doctor, I didn't know I was infringing on your academic field." He joked, doing little to hide the sarcasm in his tone and the short bursts of laughter that followed. "I had no idea you were an expert in frame manipulation and abdominal port interfacing."

Ratchet simply frowned, not sure what to say next that wouldn't be used against him. "Hmph. Well that explains everything." He grumbled, giving Smokescreen his scrupulous medic-eye by looking him once over. "You've manipulated your ports so incompetently that you've fried your central processing unit."

"What!?" Smokescreen actually looked taken aback for once, but he quickly regained his composure. "You're the one with the fried processor. Everyone knows interfacing is harmless. You really are an old bot…"

"Harmless in the hands of a physician for serious medical situations! Not for immature sensor experimentation by children who can't tell their valve from their ventilation grill!"

"I do to know how to maintain my own frame!" Smokescreen stammered, obviously provoked up by the sudden change of control. "You're the one who's out of touch with the science, Ratchet. It was proven centuries ago that pleasure 'facing is totally safe. Right, 'Bee?" Bumblebee looked around timidly, as if unsure that he wanted to have an opinion on this topic.

"Leave Bumblebee out of this. I won't have the likes of you encouraging him to participate in your twisted, self-destructive hobbies."

"You're like an audio recording, Ratchet, replaying the same old scrap again and again!"

"Oh, please." Ratchet scoffed. He stood tall to face Smokescreen, openly defiant, grateful that the confrontation had taken a turn into a debate that he could and was qualified to argue with. "I am a distinguished technician and physician. I've been repairing bots since before you emerged from the Well. You are unqualified to have an opinion on this topic, let alone distinguish it as fact when you hold no rank in Cybertronian medical science. I am and have been serving as Chief Medical Officer alongside Optimus since the war began for a reason. My expertise in my field of knowledge certainly hold more clout than the opinion of a child who only knows how to shoot a weapon and take orders, but judging by your performance thus far, I question your competence on even that." He snapped.

Smokescreen groaned, seeming at last to accept defeat. "Whatever. You're still wrong…" He pouted. "But why do you care anyway?"

Ratchet groaned. Here we go again.

Smokescreen shoved himself away from the wall and marched over to where Ratchet was attempting to continue his assignment, as if his physical presence could somehow intimidate the science officer into changing what he perceived as an undisputed fact.

"If you don't like me, why do you care what I do with my body?! If I want to harm myself, so what? It's my metal and I can do with it what I want! What about freedom of individuality? Isn't that what being an Autobot means? If I can't do something as simple as manipulate my own frame, then what are we fighting for? Even Decepticons understand individual freedoms to an extent more than you do! Don't I have rights? What about my-"

"Oh for Primus's sake…Shut up!"

Finally, after consigning himself to his fate, the familiar rumble of Optimus's engines echoed down the entry hall, accompanied by Arcee and the children. When Optimus appeared, Ratchet felt as if he was looking upon Primus himself.

"Thank the ALLSPARK you've returned, Optimus!" Ratchet stammered, rushing to greet his superior. "This… this arrogant child has been twisting my spark since you left. He refuses to quit arguing and will not obey my orders!"

When Optimus completed his transformation from vehicle mode, he turned to Smokescreen and frowned. "Are you disrupting Ratchet's assignment, Smokescreen?" He asked.

Smokescreen suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Um. Maybe."

"Hmm…" Optimus grumbled, furrowing his brow.

"You see, Optimus?!" Ratchet wrung his hands together anxiously. "He admits to being insubordinate! Do you see how arrogant he is?!" Ratchet put his arms to his hips and stared down at Smokescreen who looked to be slightly embarrassed at the sudden turn of events.

Optimus nodded, glaring intently at the younger bot. "What Smokescreen needs is discipline."

"I could not agree more! Which is why you should-"

"Which is why," Optimus interjected, "Smokescreen must learn how to function as an individual and as a part to a whole."

Ratchet nearly fell over in humiliation.

"Smokescreen…" Optimus stepped to where the new recruit was cowering and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Here on Earth, so far from our home, we do not have the luxury of a strict hierarchy that you are familiar with, having served in the highly ordered Elite Guard. I am not always available to give orders, so I put my trust in my subordinates to work out their own chain of command by making choices that benefit the group as a whole. While this concept make feel foreign to you, even uncomfortable, we must all adapt to the circumstances that we are faced with, as is our nature as Transformers. I will not order you to like Ratchet, but for the benefit of us all, I suggest that you respect his authority unless the strength of the group is weakened by it. Do I make myself clear?"

Smokescreen stared at the floor, nodding. "Yes.. Yes sir." He raised his head, put his shoulders back and forced his quivering optics to meet his superior's. "I apologize for my selfish behavior and will put aside my differences for the greater good of the Autobot cause."

Out of sight of Optimus, Ratchet rolled his eyes. Not even an apology from the brat.

At that, Prime simply nodded and gave Smokescreen permission to leave.

"What was that all about?" Jack asked, running up to greet Smokescreen.

Smokescreen grinned and knelt down to face his small friend. "Oh nothing! Wanna go for a ride?" Jack nodded enthusiastically. "You too, Bumblebee, Raf! Whoever makes the first mile mark gets no maintenance duty for a week!" Smokescreen cheered, his mood instantly changed for the better.

As Raf and Jack clambered into their respective vehicles, Ratchet shouted after them. "No racing! Remain covert! I'm serious, Bumblebee! I don't not want a repeat of last time!" But over the sound of the other's voices, Ratchet's was lost in the din of engines and children's laughter.

When the room had cleared at last, Ratchet sighed with relief. "FINALLY! I thought I'd never get a break. Peace and quiet…" He studied his monitors, attempting to pick up where he left off, but noticed Optimus was still standing by, remaining in company.

"You know, Optimus." Ratchet murmured as he typed, his eyes fixated on the screens. "He would do better to have you set him straight. He listens to you. He respects you… why he doesn't have the same attitude toward me, only Primus knows… but-" He turned to face Optimus, optics stern and crossed his arms. "You can't expect a youth like him to know how to accept personal responsibility. He isn't experienced in that regard. He needs your discipline."

Optimus leaned against a railing, listening intently to Ratchets advice, but he did not agree. "No, Ratchet, he would not do well. I do admit that he respects me more than you, but this respect is false." Optimus shifted his weight and fell into a ponderous mood. "Personally, I have done nothing to garner respect from him, but nonetheless command it with my presence, as my reputation demands it. But, that it all it is. You do not have epics written in your name, Ratchet. You don't possess the name of Prime and lead a rebellion for the cause of freedom. The respect I receive is only the result of those who know my name and find solace in my principles. Without those who admire what I represent, including Smokescreen and yourself, I would not be worthy of my position. Respect must be earned, my friend, not commanded. If Smokescreen chooses to respect me, he does so because he knows that our ideals are the same and by falling in line, he only helps himself. If your name was written with as much grandeur as mine has been, you too would understand why authority is only an illusion. In time, you will receive the respect you deserve from Smokescreen, as you already do from the others in our company and as you did from those who are no longer with us. Be patient and Smokescreen will come around, I can assure you of that."

His hands resting lightly on the keyboard, Ratchet reflected on Optimus's sensible suggestion.

"You're too modest but… I will consider your words, Optimus." He said simply, returning to his project.

Optimus watched his friend for a moment before departing the central room, leaving Ratchet to his work. A silence fell over the Autobot base then, peace and quiet at last…


End file.
